


Bottom of the inkwell adventures in last minute shopping with Antonello Crowley

by Augenblickgotter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is Patient (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Holidays, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, crowley invents procrastination and regrets it, gifting, last minute gifting, last minute shopping with crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:55:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28003494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Augenblickgotter/pseuds/Augenblickgotter
Summary: Everything Crowley came up with as a Demon to mildly irritate humanity ALWAYS came back to bite him personally on his tight jeans. And of all the times, why had his idea of procrastinating really taken the chomp on Christmas Eve when he had NO presents for his Angel? What is a demon to do?Part of the Ineffable Husbands Advent fic series. My prompt was 'Last Minute Shopping'.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 33
Collections: Ineffable Holiday 2020, Ineffable Husbands Advent Challenge 2020





	Bottom of the inkwell adventures in last minute shopping with Antonello Crowley

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my1alias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my1alias/gifts), [Quefish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quefish/gifts), [Caedmon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/gifts).



> A thanks to the wonderful [my1alias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my1alias/pseuds/my1alias/works) for beta'ing!

Procrastination.

It seemed like any of Crowley's ideas; pretty damn ingenious when he thought it up.

He proposed it in the very earliest days of Man-on-Earth to the bored Counsel in Hell.

"Just think! Man; so clever, so active, so moving forward and evolving, only to put it off again and again! Just think of these brave little creatures God created in Their image to now be filled with anxiety constantly!"

Everyone agreed it WAS a rather diabolical idea; Humans plagued with that unexplainable need to forfeit doing or completing things until the last moment: so much sweat and worry. Oh sure, perhaps it was drawn from what were rather normal experiences for Angels and Demons already in their work, so why not just spread the grief around to any and all beings? Or maybe Crowley osmosified it during his thousands of years on Earth, being around these angsty beings. All part of some plan.

Unfortunately, like all his plans, it backfired in his face at the worst possible moment all the time in a very personal manner; gift shopping on Christmas Eve. For Aziraphale.

He pressed through the throngs of mortal bodies, heading to the Shopping Centers. The very air, even in the chilly outdoors, was fluttering with excitement. Faces looking past him, moving with the focus of hunting dogs, rushing to get last-minute gifts. Crowley didn't outwardly display that urgency, but inside he was his own whole scrabbling pack of hounds desperate to pick up a scent. 

_ "Yah, alright. Mr. 'Don't you dare miracle me up a present', this is the last time I do this." _

Aziraphale loved Christmas. Crowley never would admit it; he enjoyed the season as well. Or it was more of the case of enjoying seeing Aziraphale's genuine love of the season celebrating peace and giving that made him happy. If you were getting a present from Aziraphale, he already had it on time. He would wrap it meticulously, curl the bows and ribbons with his scissors and fluff them with a pat. He dedicated a whole day to writing his cards to everyone he deemed deserved one. There, at his writing desk, a heap of envelopes and colorful folded cards, writing well wishes and dedications. There was always a partial stack he'd harangue Crowley to sign as well; mutual friends and humans Crowley barely knew.

"You know," Crowley muttered, scratching something unintelligible onto Anathema's card, "You could save the stamp and deliver some of these? Some of them live a few minutes away."

Aziraphale always narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

"You miss the whole point of sending cards, dear."

"People email each other too, you know?"

"Crowley, you had wonderful handwriting. Remember all those letters you sent me?"

Crowley would pretend to be rather busy, signing his cards, mentally blushing.

"I would say," Aziraphale added, "That you even had a delightful style of your own. Writing as though it came from your heart."

"Yeah, fancy that." Crowley scratched harder on Lesley the Delivery Man's card.

"And those little illustrations you'd include. Whatever happened to that creative flourish?"

"That? That inkwell dried up a long time ago. I’m scraping the bottom of it, as a matter of fact."

He snapped his fingers with a dry smirk, and the cards sailed back into a pile on Aziraphale's desk.

Aziraphale had gone from trying to explain the joy of Yule over the years to primly ignoring him and reminding him to sign the rest in that stack if he would? Then he addressed them by hand, placed each stamp with precision, got out his wax seal, and sealed each one. He'd get out some of his rubber stamps for any families with children and festoon the envelopes with stampings of animals and snowflakes. 

After that, it was a brisk jaunt to the post office to see them off, another waste of energy in Crowley's opinion.

"You could... put them in the mailbox..."

"But I want to see them off!" was always the reply.

  
  


And sure enough, Crowley never failed to find his own card delivered to his flat, the day before Christmas Eve. He has already seen the art, but it made no difference. He would open it, read the short dedication and something adoring perfectly written in the corner, smile quietly, and prop it on the nightstand beside his bed. 

Open, so he could reread the words in the morning with a wistful sigh.

And then remember his real motive was to remind himself it was the day before Christmas and he hadn't gotten the card sender their appropriate gift yet.

_______________

He glanced in storefronts he knew so well, brushing past so many things he happily indulged Aziraphale in. Cheerful crowds of happy humans, aromas of delightful treats and candies, music and bells sprinkled through the hum.

But no inspiration for a memorable gift.

_ "Hmm, there's always the phenomenally expensive liquor option. Or chocolates or somethin'. Mmmmmnn, no." _

He stalked into a clothing shop and made his path through to the men's wares.

_ "New clothes? Something to spruce up things. It doesn't have to be the whole suit. I mean... maybe a hat?" _

He stared at the headless mannequins, posturing vaguely by the windows. Slender, rounded, chic.

_ "Hmmm, not exactly adjectives I would use on Aziraphale... What do human men want anyway?" _

He was a demon, he actually knew very much what mortals desired all the time.

The answer seemed to be the same that it had been for centuries;

Something that made them appear younger, stronger, bestowed with louder and more powerful equipment that was mostly useless, and infinitely attractive and desirable to women.

_ "I would definitely be barking up the wrong tree there," _ he mused, staring at the display of power tools as he cruised through another shop.

Crowley was getting frustrated, and the bustling, warm, sweetly scented shops were grating him more by the hour.

_ "What have I gotten him before?!?" _

Crowley had bestowed things every single year, huffing and muttering because it was expected at the holidays. Those tiny little things no Immortal Being burdened with a higher cause should hold so dear, but held them Aziraphale did. Crowley was astounded when he spotted some of these things in the Bookshop; a letter opener from around 300 years ago. Quills to a writing set from further back. The handbound book from an Italian shop 500 years ago looked the same as the day he bought it. And he knew the pages within were STILL as blank as they had been created (except for that damn smarmy dedication he put in the front, it seemed perfect at the time) because Aziraphale found it so precious he didn't want to spoil it. Not even with his unearthly perfect handwriting. Also further proof in Crowley’s mind Angels get bouts of procrastination. At least he was alone.

Crowley was moving through another shop, anxious and worried. It was past noon. The frenzy of the crowds was incrementally growing as the sun lowered. 

_ "What about a book?" _

Over the centuries, those were the best gifts. But modern bookshops with their glossy covers brandishing the well-known writers' names just didn't have the allure. Not like the deep hidden shops of old, loaded with gems and treasures.

_ "Yeah, right, I could... march to his shop and buy his own book for him. Make an elaborate hidden disguise, wrangle away the most loved book he'd never sell anyhow and just give it back the next day." _

Crowley smirked, knowing Aziraphale would be endlessly rebuking him and reverencing him at the same time.

_ "Nah, too corny. Besides… What THE?!"  _

Crowley froze in his tracks at the feeling of another Celestial Being nearby. Sure, there were always angels and demons mingling and lurking among the mortals every day. But this one wasn't trying to mask their presence. It took only a second for Crowley to spot a platinum blonde head coming his way in the crowd.

" _ Oh shit! What the hell?! I thought he'd be spuddering around the Shop. _ " 

  
  


Instead, Aziraphale was shambling through the crowd like he was looking for something. He also looked perfectly wrapped up in the revelries around. The oversized coat he always wore stood out less in the crowd of bundled up humans. He did don an oversized red and green knitted scarf Tracy had sent to him. It wrapped in layers around his neck, making his youthful face look even more like a child overdressed for the chill. His eyes glimmered as he scanned back and forth between the storefronts. He smiled at every child that paused to stare at him. Crowley knew kids often sensed both of them were not human, and though he lacked a beard, the youngsters were probably wondering if that man might be Santa incognito. Aziraphale was doing nothing to dispel that suspicion with a smile and wink.

_ "For the love of Satan... what the hell is he doing? Is he looking for me?" _

Crowley wondered if he had been sensed at all.

His panic abated as he saw Aziraphale stroll into one of the crowded shops.

_ "Wow, what's up with that? Last minuting it, eh?" _

Crowley moved away, stalking double time to the other end of the chaos.

______________________________

The shadows grew longer and blacker. The strands of twinkling lights sparkled forebodingly. Twilight was descending. 

_ "I can't believe it. Christmas Eve, and I have nothing. Well, alright, I can believe it, actually." _

Crowley did have a tote bag with ridiculously pricey wine and some very fancy biscuits in very fancy colorful tins.

But that didn't feel like a real gift, just a little appetizer.

Crowley had spotted Aziraphale still strolling aimlessly, looking unperturbed and blissful. He had a small bag of things he had gotten, obviously for them tomorrow.

_ "Oh, came out to get treats, did he? For us tomorrow, huh?" _

The Demon's heart sank. 

_ "He's out enjoying the sights and sounds and probably hoping to find me to just be cute and festive with. Go look at the lights, ice skate, listen to Carolers."  _

Crowley rambled in the general Bookshop direction, guilt weighing on his neck.

_ "Of course, he won't take it personally. He knows I don't mean to be miserly about it. I just... I... I can't be inspired. Like that well went dry this time." _

Crowley paused. He stared at the sky. 

_ "Well... went dry." _

He snapped his fingers. Snowflakes started to drift downward, fluttering through the twinkling lights and bright shop windows. Children started babbling with joy in the nearby park, running around in the drifting flakes. 

Crowley jaunted even faster towards the Shop, passing a group of young Carolers. With another snap, each of the singers had in their minds a whole list of Yule songs to sing for the next few hours. And all were Aziraphale's favourites. Plus, it didn't hurt that a little Demonic Miracle made their voices exceptionally heavenly.

_____

Though a few little lights were at the front of the bookshop, bouncing off the baubles Aziraphale had hung, it was dark. Crowley knew the shop was protected by miracles and binds, but he was the only other being that had been granted the knowledge of entry.

He stepped to the door, snapping his fingers. He heard the door unlock. He snapped again. It opened soundlessly. 

"Marmalade," he muttered, and the last barrier fell away. He stomped in, snapping behind himself to relock the door.

He placed his bag by the till and stalked to the back room.

Turning on the lamp, he rummaged for only a moment before finding his goal.

His fingers grasped the spine of the empty book that he hadn't touched since he put it in Aziraphale's eager fingers.

_ "Same as the day I gave it. The texture. The smell." _

It opened with a gentle crackle, the pages pure as a sunrise under the warm lamp light. Sighing as he sat in the oversized plumply upholstered chair, he settled down.

He reached for one of the quills that had also been a gift and opened the nearest inkpot he recognized as another gift. The iron gall ink within, still being held together with a loving miracle, like the day he got it. 400 years ago.

Crowley knew he had only a few hours. Aziraphale would be enraptured by the snow, the lights, the Carolers.

He glanced at the clock, 9:00 P.M.

_ "Okay, Crowley, not the first time you have had to write something in just a matter of hours." _

He rooted around the desk and found the half a bottle of Talisker he had left from a previous evening. Taking a swig, he steeled his nerves, dipping the quill into the fountain.

_ “Time to see if I REALLY have scraped everything off that bottom or not.” _

_______________

Crowley was awoken by a clattering and whistling of a kettle. And some tinny carol softly emitting from the Gramophone.

He floundered as he tried to lean up, pulling the blanket off his head.

He was in the Shop on one of the sofas he liked best. He came to realize his boots were off. And his jacket. As he moved his body, the truth that his jeans were gone too came over him. He was down to his undershirt and briefs. And socks.

"What?" he groaned, pulling the fleece blanket around himself.

"Oh, hello!" bloomed Aziraphale's voice. "And Merry Christmas!" Sock-muffled steps bagan coming his way.

Crowley wanted to loudly whine about the state of his undress but refrained as the steps came closer. He may be a Demon and unforgivable, but spoiling the moment was more than he could even muster doing.

Sure enough, Aziraphale shuffled into sight, holding a tray with teacups and treats. He was wearing his nightclothes (tartan, obviously) and an overrobe (also tartan).

Crowley pretended to grimace at the cuteness. 

"Uh, yeah, Happy Holidays. What happened to my clothes?"

Aziraphale scooted with the tray to set on the small table in front of the sofa.

"Sorry dear, I must apologize about last night."

"Oh yeah? Did you get all naughty on me?"

Aziraphale sat down beside Crowley, leaning to fuss with the cups.

"Yes. It was Christmas Eve, and I know you'd be out and about. Well, I was rather hoping we'd run into each other so we could just wander about."

"Oh, I see."

"And then I got so caught up in the evening!" Aziraphale sounded guilty.

"I thought you were near, but I suppose you had already headed back here looking for me."

He lifted a cup of black coffee and handed it to Crowley.

"Well, I was heading back, but... "

"Got caught up in merrimaking, did you?" Crowley blew the steam off his cup with a smirk.

"I couldn't help it!" That familiar pout graced the boyish countenance.

"The... the lights and shops! The little children! Then, would you believe it, it began to snow!"

"Oh, really? I must have been in the shop by then."

Crowley made an effort to peer at a window.

Though still dark, the crust of white snow on the sill was obvious.

"And then the carolers! Oh, they were wonderful! "

Aziraphale sounded like he was confessing for a major transgression, and Crowley just narrowed his slitted eyes, coyly sipping from his cup.

"And THEN, a pack of children arrived and began to make snow angels."

Crowley tried to keep his coffee down.

"Eck... uhhm, did you partake in flopping on the ground and wagging your limbs comically to make crude effigies of your kind?"

"Crowley! Really! It was so innocent, of course I joined in!"

Crowley could barely keep his lips together as he set his cup down.

"Well, no harm Angel. I just figured I'd come here and surprise you and must have... fallen asleep and ... had my clothes removed."

"Oh, sorry for the shock, dear, but I came in, and you were slumped in this sofa so haphazardly. I got you out of your clothes so you'd be comfortable."

Crowley tried to appear offended, but Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

"You did NOT wake when I tried to wake you repeatedly. It took 10 minutes to peel you out of your jeans."

"With what? A carrot peeler?"

"Hmm, too bad I didn't think of that," Aziraphale teased. "It would have gone faster."

Crowley snorted.

"Well, Angel, for your information, I was working very hard to make this morning special. So..."

He snapped his fingers, making a bundle appear on Aziraphale's lap.

"There, Merry Christmas."

Aziraphale looked, well, like a kid at Christmas as he snatched up the item, wrapped in festive paper. Crowley did miracle up the wrapping paper. A Demon had to draw a line somewhere.

Aziraphale carefully pulled the ribbon off and removed the paper without a single tear.

He turned the book over once before pausing.

"My... it looks like... my..."

He glanced at Crowley, who simply gestured with his chin.

Aziraphale pulled the cover open to see the original dedication inside;

_ "To my distinguished friend Aziraphale. The pages are yours to be filled with whatever your heart desires. Until the End, yours always, Antonello Crowley." _

Crowley cringed.

"Yeah, so, I was going through my Antonello phase..."

Underneath it was a new dedication;

" _ Aziraphale, since it's apparent that you may never fill these pages, but you have said I am what your heart desires, I see now it's up to me to do the deed. So, fulfilling my previous request, I fill the pages with myself for you and everything we've done together. Always yours, Crowley." _

Aziraphale flipped the page to see it covered with words and figures. He started gently turning to see every page filled with more words, symbols, and illustrations. Some in languages and symbols long since unused. Some little images of places and things from thousands of years past. And some everyday happenings.

Crowley eyes the side of his face, watching for a flicker of change from shock.

Aziraphale did look up, mouth open.

"Crowley... did you..."

"Yup. Last night."

"All this?"

"Hey, I'm a Demon. Pretty standard stuff to rattle off a whole cursed book in a matter of hours."

"But... it's..."

"It's us. " 

Crowley reached out and took the book, thoughtfully paging through.

"Things we did. Things I remembered. Things you said to me I never forgot..."

Aziraphale hugged him tightly.

"Oh, please, I am sorry! You didn't have to do that! Is that why you were so tired?"

"I suppose. I don't remember."

"Crowley, it's perfect!"

Crowley kissed the top of his head.

"Worth it."

Azirapahle went slack, now looking crestfallen.

"Oh, bother, I didn't do anything so nice for you. Sorry."

"Now, Angel, c'mon. I'll bet you did great."

Aziraphale sighed and reached around the sofa arm, lifting a medium-sized box, perfectly wrapped in tartan wrapping paper with a cloth bow on top.

Crowley snatched it up and tore the paper off with a single swipe. 

Hoisting the lid off the box he was greeted with black fabric. 

"I am sorry, not very original," Aziraphale apologized as Crowley lifted the garment out of the box. "But... well, I thought you might like a night robe like this. I know you have evening wear but not like this one."

Instead of satin or silk, it was simply a plush material. The kind Crowley would scoff at, but the more his hands touched, the more he wanted it against his skin. He gave the black robe a flap out, revealing the red-lined interior, and donned it quickly.

He began melting back into the sofa and pulled his legs up inside it, trying to cover every inch he could with its soft carress.

Aziraphale fretted his hands together. "Do you like it?"

Crowley hummed.

"Hmmm, feels so good I wanna slip out of the rest of my clothes, feel it over all of me."

Aziraphale smirked.

"Oh, good! I was afraid you wouldn't like it."

"I love it. It'ssss perfect. I wanna curl up and hibernate."

"Oh, please don't!" Aziraphale was suddenly frantic. "The last time you did that, you did it all winter!"

"Teasin', Angel." Crowley reached up to pull Aziraphale against him.

Aziraphale hugged back and sighed.

"Merry Christmas, dear. Sorry I made you work so hard on your wonderful gift I have yet to appreciate fully."

"Bah, you're worth it." Crowley began playfully rocking a little, feeling the coffee take effect. "Wanna go out and see the sights a little?"

Aziraphale was still cuddled against his Demon. He reached to grab his book and open it one-handedly.

"Yes. Of course," he lovingly purred, "But it's still dark. That can wait a little longer."

"Right," Crowley agreed. "When it's light. Then we rush back here and spend all day like this. I strip and wear just my robe and you go through your book. And we get out our treats we got yesterday and just..."

He trailed off as Aziraphale craned his head up to kiss.

"I couldn't think of anything more perfect."

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I actually headed one way with this fic, then another... and suddenly realized how I could wrap it up without being too unoriginal. 
> 
> Thanks, from the bottom of my heart, to the wonderful folks who encouraged me and with this. I hope folks subscribed to this series enjoy it. I dutifully remain committed to finishing my piece for the sake of the wonderful friends involved and readers looking forwards to these pieces even if it doesn't stay in this collection.


End file.
